


Into the Veil

by MysticalMirage



Category: None_This_is_an_Original_Work
Genre: Gen, Magic, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticalMirage/pseuds/MysticalMirage
Summary: The Kingdom of Aurelion has been shrouded in darkness since the cruel Immortal King took the throne, centuries ago. Poverty runs rampant, and beings that can only be described as demons prowl the streets, causing more chaos than creating order. The slums are controlled by rival gangs, always at each other's throats. Walker magic has been outlawed, and Walkers are chased down by the King's hunters, the Demon's Bane.Soren, an orphan, has been used and controlled by the Skirmishers for years to do things that will not help his city, and is willing to do anything to get out of their control, no matter the cost.Ifera, the daughter of a rich Aurelish nobleman, is under scrutiny by the Recruiters, for a power she can't even control.





	1. Prologue

“ _I hope I don’t get caught_ ,” Soren thinks, his tiny body slipping through an air duct, air slipping past his face into the chamber below. He had been unlucky this week, and needed this steal, otherwise he would have to go hungry again today. “ _I’m lucky Duke Arkelion is out of the country this week_ .” He was shrouded in darkness, but after a moment of searching found the grate into the room. He slowly eased it out, but a loud screech of metal against metal sounded, making him flinch. “ _Checking for metal surrounding. Rookie error.”_  He pulls it out with a quick yank, which makes the largest squeal yet. He curses, and drops to the floor.

It was like stepping into a different world, the dim lighting of the underground chamber illuminating the many rows upon rows of glass enclosed cases, full of treasures and artifacts from countless ages ago. He looked around quickly, scoping out the area. “ _I don’t need anything big, just enough for a solid trade.”_ He starts looking around, noticing the large suits of armor in shadow around the corners of the room. He shivered, feeling like they were watching his every move. After a few minutes of searching, Soren came across a case full of old artifacts from before the reign of the Immortal King, including a few pieces of jewelry and an unusual looking coin.

“Illegal artifacts? Perfect.” Soren mutters, “Didn’t know old Arkelion liked to toe the edge.”

He slowly lifted the glass lid and started grabbing pieces. He grabbed the coin, which on closer inspection had a wolf printed on it, as well as a bunch of rings and a few necklaces. When he picked up the coin, there was a small flash, causing him to turn sharply towards the coin, then shaking his head and shoved the coin into his pocket. He shoved the rest of the jewelry in a sack he had over his back, then closed the case. Suddenly, just as he took a step, a loud sizzle sound emanated around the room, emanating out from where he was to the edges of the room, where the four suits of armor came to life, as well as four others, stepping out of alcoves in the center of each wall. “ _No one told me the Duke was an Animator!”_ Soren jumps up, and starts running towards the air duct, keeping his face bowed just in case the Duke could see through his creations, knowing that expert Animators can do so. He runs, dodging around glass cases and stands, and almost runs straight into a suit, which reaches out to grab him. Soren skids, about to run into it.

“Shit!” he yelled, about to hit it, then blinked in surprise as he was suddenly, still skidding, on the other side of the suit of armor.

 _“What just happened?”_ He wonders to himself as he continues to sprint towards the air duct, and quickly climbs in and quickly crawls toward the entrance back to the main floor, where he got in the duct. He steps out of the duct, and hearing the stomp of yet more suits coming towards him from down the hallway, sprints to the door. He throws open the door, but gets stopped by some invisible force.

“No no no!” He shouts, trying to push through the magical barrier. He throws the stolen artifacts behind him and tries again, as the clanking of metal on hardwood gets closer. “Come on, come on!” He pats himself down, trying to figure out what he still had with him, when his hands hit the coin in his pocket, and he proceeds to throw it behind him, and runs through the barrier with ease.

He sprints away, running as fast as he can. He keeps looking behind him, just in case the suits try to come after him. He looks back, and sees a large wolf standing on the rooftop of the Duke’s mansion, and gets a weird feeling that it is looking straight at him. He feels something heavy in his pocket, but he turns around and speeds up, trying to get away from the wolf’s gaze. He stops, eight year old lungs heaving, a block away from the Skirmisher headquarters, his current home. He reaches into his pocket, which had felt unusual when he saw the wolf, and feels something round and smooth. Curious, he pulls it out, and sees the wolf coin from the mansion. His face lights up, and he starts striding toward home, finally ready to get some food.

He walks up to the counter, which is empty at this time of night. His hand hovers over the bell, the coin clutched in his other. He hesitates for a minute, then tucks his hands back into his ragged pockets, suddenly feeling the urge to hold onto the coin. He walks away, heading towards his cot in the other building. “ _No food again”._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Soren walks into the Skirmisher’s boardroom, where the gang leaders are meeting. He nods to Alek, the leader of his division, and went to stand by Carleon, the Arena and Challenge Master, to answer his summons.  _ ”They probably have another person from the Blades for me to fight. I wonder what they did this time,”  _ Soren thinks to himself, remembering all those years ago when Alek pulled him aside and told him he was being taught to fight, as it had become very obvious that as Soren grew up and got taller that he could no longer work as a thief. They put him up against his first opponent in the Arena a month later.

The meeting ended and Carleon turned to Soren. “Soren, we had an issue with the Blades yesterday, when one of their protection money Collectors encroached on our side of King’s Row. They have issued a challenge, so if they win, …” Soren zones out, thinking  _ “This whole system is stupid gang versus gang, being petty about little bits of money when they should be working with each other, maybe to get us all out of these cesspool slums we call home, maybe doing something about these damn demons roaming the streets. But instead we fight each other.” _

“…. So you have to win, otherwise we don’t get our money. Got it?” Carleon finishes, just as Soren starts listening again.

“Of course Carleon. After all, when have I ever let you down?” Soren smirks, striding towards the exit, followed by Carleon’s stink eye.

         He leaves the Center Command, which is in the middle of the Skirmisher’s compound, his face souring as he thinks about the upcoming duel that night. He heads toward the Fighter District, to a small, run down building he calls home. People see him, and the coat he is wearing with the Skirmisher Enforcer insignia, and move out of the way, quicker than normal as they see his grim expression. He enters the house and after taking off his coat, walks into the living room, which is a cozy space with a fireplace, a few chairs, and a small table to the side of the biggest chair. He nods to his roommate and best friend, Daemon, and plops down in the large armchair. Daemon sees the look on his face and says “Another match? Didn’t they just have you fight that Chameleon chick last Zethsday?”

         Soren picks up two sheathed knives, their khopesh shaped blades almost catching a mug before he pulls them off the table and takes out a wheatstone. “Yep. Got some Blades bloke to fight tonight. Their Collectors took money from some of our side of King’s Row or something along those lines and won’t give it back.”

         “Huh. Can’t say I’m surprised. However I  am surprised you’re still under the command of that old hoot Carleon. With your speed and,” Daemon glances at the knife Soren is sharpening, “choice of weapons,” he continues after a pause, “you should be with Kilgore.”

         “The Assassin Master? I mean, I could, but killing in the dark isn’t really my style, especially when they don’t see it coming. It feels… rude, I suppose, and rather cowardly.” He lays down the knife, and picks up the next one.

         Daemon snorts, choking down a laugh. “You better not tell any of his charges, or worse, Kilgore himself, otherwise they will kick your ass.” He laughs again, not bothering to hide it. “I’d pay to see it, if they actually had a chance.” 

         Soren cracks a smile, trying not to laugh. “They might have a chance, but only if all 10 of them took me on at once.” He starts coughing, still trying to smother his laughter.

         “They would need,” Daemon doubles over on the couch, laughing profusely, “they would need to rope in some of those damn… damn demons too” He falls over onto the couch, unable to speak around the laughter.

         Soren, unable to contain it anymore, starts cracking up, sheathing the knife before he stabs himself. “T… then they would probably,” Soren stops talking, as he proceeds to also double over, gasping for breath in between laughs. 

         After a few minutes Daemon gets up, still gasping, and starts stumbling towards their tiny kitchen. “I… I’m gonna make us some food, you’ll need it before tonight” Daemon is the best chef in the Skirmisher section of the slums, but he never lets anyone watch, and only cooks in his own kitchen. “ _ I’ve still never seen him cook, and i’ve lived with him for what, six years now?”  _ Soren thinks to himself, getting off the ground and back into his chair, taking the knife out of the sheath again, looking over both edges. The knife was shaped like a small khopesh, the curved blade meant for holding a larger weapon in place instead of letting it slide down towards the handle and Soren’s hand. He does an experimental twirl, and content with its sharpness and balance, sheaths the knife, and straps the sheaths with both knives on, one below each arm against his chest. He lays back, pondering his life, thinking about how it's taken this turn for the worse, how he is just an Arena lackey, albeit a good one.

         In his always absurdly quick fashion, Daemon walks out of the kitchen, holding a platter of omelettes and some new bread. “We got a bunch of new food earlier today, and it came with some eggs, so I figured we might as well treat ourselves before your big match tonight.” He quickly splits it between two plates, giving Soren the plate with a decent amount more.

         “Hey give yourself some, I don’t need this much” Soren protests, trying to push his plate towards Daemon, using his fork to push it towards the other plate.

         Daemon puts a finger on the encroaching edge of the plate, halting its progress. “I’m not that hungry, and besides, you need it more than I do for tonight. You know it's always good to eat up beforehand.”

         Soren reluctantly takes the plate back, and taking a bite, and groaning with delight. “My god, delicious as always Daemon. You ever gonna tell me how you make everything so good?”

         “Why would I? Trade secret.” Daemon smiles, laughter in his eyes.

         Soren groans, and finishing up, rolls out of the armchair. “Well I better get going, it looks like sunset will be in an hour or so.”

         “Enjoy!” Daemon replies, knowing full well that Soren hated fighting in the Arena. 

         Soren glares down at him, and walks out, grabbing his coat on the way. He heads towards the Arena proper, getting an early start on the night. He was so lost in thought that he almost ran straight into Carleon, who jumped back in surprise. “Soren! I was just looking for you. Alek wanted to make sure you know how imperative this fight is tonight. They have upped the stakes, saying that they will have claim to the entirety of King’s Row if you lose. So don’t lose!” He claps Soren on the shoulder, and walks off, oblivious to Soren’s annoyed stare.

         Soren continues walking, angry about how much the damn Challenge Master thrusts on him with a moment’s notice, about how he wants to leave this foolish life. He stops at an older, run down house, and with a knock, walks in.

         “Boy? Is that you?” an older voice calls out.

         “Yeah, Matt, its me.” Soren walks in, sitting down on the couch across from a rocking chair, in which sits a old man with a small cat in his lap. He looks around, eyes narrowing at the broken window and rocks strewn about, empty cupboard doors swinging. “They raided again?”

         “Not like I can stop them, being paralyzed and all,” Matt replies, sarcasm rich in his voice, as he pets the cat in his lap. 

         Soren tosses him an apple, which he grabs out of the air and takes a bite. “Mmm. Delivery day?”

         “Yeah,” Soren replies, playing with the handle of his knife as he looks around. “Look. I’ll talk to Alek, see if he can get a crew up here to repair your window and maybe get you added to the food delivery schedule.”

         “Don’t bother, kid. It’ll just get broken and taken again anyway.”

         “But….”

         “Boy. I’m an old man now, and in this world I probably won’t last much longer. You need to move on with your life. Go with your gut. Get out of the life.”

         “How… how’d you know?”

         “I’m an old man! It’s my job to be wise and perceptive. But my point stands---don’t worry about me. Live your life.”

         “I don't like this. I will find a way to help, regardless of what you think.”

         “Got another apple?”

         “Aaarg!” Soren cried out in frustration, chucking another apple at the old man and walking out the door, slamming it behind him. He strides down the hallway, angry at himself for running out on Matt, angry that the old man was giving up on life without trying to find a way to make it better. 

         He walks out of the building, and suddenly stops, getting a strange prickling on the back of his neck. He looked up, and lo and behold, he saw a sight that he hadn’t seen in 10 years. He looked up and saw a large wolf, glowing against the night with a pale, blue glow. His pocket grew warm, and he reached inside, clutching the ancient coin, imprinted with the very same wolf, that forbidden image, that had been forbidden for generations,  that hadn’t left his pocket in ten years. He looks up at the wolf, and has a feeling, like his life will never be the same again.

 


End file.
